


Father knows best

by hauntedpoem



Series: Say hello to your new boyfriend [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Annatar showing his true colors as Sauron, Blackmail, Character Death, Depression, Domestic, Dubious Consent, Erebor Construction, Good Ada Thranduil, Legolas is the perfect kid, M/M, Other, Pain Medication, Shotgun Wedding, Teen Pregnancy, Thranduil and his repressed urges, Toxic Relationship, Traumatic Experiences, Vicodin, age diference, architect Thranduil, board meetings, he makes Gaga playlists for his Ada to keep him from grinding his teeth during boring presentations, house chores, late night sketching, lumbersexual dwarves, m/m slash, melancholy & sad shit, modern classical music, past-Annatar/Thranduil, tea making, the Mirkwood, vain Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9843902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: Thranduil reminisces.





	1. Eighteen years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMirkyKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMirkyKing/gifts).



> I want to thank TheMirkyKing for giving me a slight push. I know I have neglected this series but today I found some inspiration!  
> Here you go... Thranduil's post-masturbatory musings.  
> -  
> My inspiration music for this vignette: [Messy hearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEmGUrVRoG4)

It was over. Thranduil pushed the dirty sheets off the bed and reached for a tissue to clean up. He changed the bedding and cleaned his toys, putting them in a safe behind an art deco painting. He felt filthy yet fulfilled. Sometimes he would do what he just did and things would quiet down. Today, the cognitive dissonance was gnawing at the seams of his mind like a hungry beast.

*  
Even now, almost twenty years after, he could feel it on his flesh, that burning breath, those merciless hands, holding him forcefully, keeping him down. In his father’s study, just a room away from where Oropher sat entertaining guests and laughing heartily at some insipid joke. He could still hear the clinking of crystal glasses filled with dark red Dorwinion or sparkling Celduin champagne. Two women were singing, someone was touching his late mother's piano, trying a cheerful party tune. His father allowed it.  
Just two summers ago they buried her. His mother was forever dead and now his farther was holding a party. He allowed this. 

  
Annatar didn't even bother with undressing him properly. He just tore his leather belt from his trousers and proceeded on securing his hands with it.  
"What are you doing? Someone might come..." Thranduil struggled to regain his composure because Annatar’s became too bold for his liking. Things weren’t supposed to go like this.  
"Oh, come on, you never cared about them anyway!" He pushed him roughly to the floor and  Thranduil had no choice but to comply, seeing how his arms have been tied to the heavy leg of his father's favourite armchair. It hurt but Thranduil was above complaining about Annatar's rough handling of him. Somehow, he could not deny him, however hard he tried. Annatar was addictive, forbidden.  
"Just don't leave marks on me. Don't!"  
But the man smirked at him cruelly and proceeded on ruining his tuxedo shirt. "I'll do what I want to do, boy, you just take it!"

It aroused him, the violence of it all. Thranduil could not deny it. They started seeing each other after his father invited him to discuss business. One look directed his way and Thranduil knew the man would be trouble. He was a teenager, reckless and horny and hell-bent on defying his father, too stern and unfeeling after his mother passed away.

They started having sex after Thranduil followed him into a hotel. He found himself tied up to the bedpost and in dire need of a second pair of clothes as Annatar liked to cut them off his body. That first night, he bought him new designer clothes and fucked him again, as the concierge came into the room to bring the icy champagne.

*

Thranduil entered his shower and set the temperature on hot. It made him feel scalded, cleaner and he poured a generous amount of shower cream into his hand.  He scrubbed diligently at every patch of skin until he knew it turned red and pulsing. His skin protested at the rough treatment but sometimes it was necessary.

*

His hands were fire as they coaxed pleasure out of him. Thranduil wanted it to be over but it never seemed to end. A phone call was enough and he came back like a dog, desperate to lick the hand that gave him so much pleasure and so much pain. The blackmails started soon. Phone calls at home, lecherous looks while Oropher was in the room, unreasonable demands. It ended only when Annatar wanted it. Meaning never.

He met Elanorwen during his internship that summer. They were both young, roughly the same age, they had sex and she got pregnant.  Four months pregnant and both eighteen, Thranduil remembers hurrying her to the marriage office. They said I do in a matter of seconds, kissed and celebrated at the local diner. His father threatened to disown him. He was mad with rage but when he heard that he will soon be a grandfather, he calmed down suddenly and started to cry.

Annatar’s phone calls intensified. It seemed like he tried to engage his father in some dubious business and Oropher declined. And then it happened.  Car accident, premature birth via caesarian section and he became the father of a boy. Elanorwen died. It all seemed like a curse that ran in the line of his Sindar ancestors. Someone always died, too soon. It was unfair.

*

He turned the water to ‘cold’ and stood under the spray for far too long, numbing himself to the onslaught of memories.

He understood it, then. He’s always been prey to other’s desires. He barely escaped as Annatar tried to rob his father of his assets, and then returned to gloat at his funeral. All he had left was Legolas and his father’s empire, ready to be crushed by greedy hands.

Turning the shower off, Thranduil emerged shrouded in a fluffy towel and headed into his bedroom. It wasn’t easy to look this good and still be the father of an eighteen year old. He’s always been a little vain but half of his work with the new firm is mainly PR so his image was important. Anti-wrinkle cream and foundation, hair treatments and weekly SPA sessions with his son, manicure sessions like clockwork, seeing as he got into the habit of biting his fingernails from stress. Thranduil Oropherion was perfection, was power, and was something unattainable in his expensive designer pieces and with his perfect posture.

He felt as empty as the buildings he designed. Nothing but high-quality material, aesthetically pleasing and rich. Devoid of the human touch, though.

He applied his masks and pomades, massaged his sculpted body and as if it was the most natural thing in the world, extracted two Vicodin tablets from the drawer on his nightstand and swallowed them with a gulp of water.

His phone vibrated. Legolas, messaging him that he won’t be coming home.Thranduil didn’t want to dine alone and so, he curled into a ball and tried not to cry himself to sleep.

Somehow, he could still feel Annatar's hands grabbing at his thighs, spreading them apart.

 

 


	2. Landscape with figure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil drowns in work and memories of his day at Erebor Constructions. He is sure of one thing, though...Thorin Oakenshield is not going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small chapter to give you more insight into Thranduil's character. We have a long way to go :)  
> If you wanna get all weepy and pensive, I recommend Max Richter's post-classical album, [Memoryhouse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-dVuUl3tHs&list=PLCQNxPV-Jejq4hBas7wx_shjhN9-qKoFS&index=3). I wholly recommend it if you're the type who strolls through foggy cemeteries at night and loves blurry, windy, rainy whatever.  
> Just imagine it is what Thranduil's usually listening to.

Nightmares are kept at bay with sleeping pills or more work, usually. Thranduil wakes up with an empty head and a growling stomach. His work phone is vibrating insistently on the nightstand. Erebor Constructions, again. He almost avoids answering it; only by force of habit he slides his finger over the call button.

It’s Balin, the VP of the Board of directors. Yes, he’s already decided. He’ll design whatever monstrosity they want him for the right amount of money. He wants to make this clear. The call ends with a promise of a draft. Dwarves!

Naked and alone in his massive bed, Thranduil starts to feel chilled. He goes to his walk-in closet and fumbles for a decently warm robe. With his dark rimmed glasses heavy on the bridge of his nose and the long pale hair tied in a ponytail, he looks terribly young for his age. The thought hangs awkward on the corners of his mind. His reflection in the mirror has been unkind lately but he’s kept an iron grip on his exercising schedule and turned to raw vegan again. He doesn’t want Legolas to have to deal with an old thing. A broken, wrinkly father. He wants to be there for Legolas, not drown in alcohol and drugs but sometimes it’s so… hard not to.

Just a small slip. A couple too many pills, two more glasses on an empty stomach. Fasting for a week. Hot showers, cold showers. A smile hanging on his lips. The razors lined neatly in the drawer remind him why he never does it.

“Good morning, my love!”

Thranduil Oropherion, the eccedentesiast.

“I love you, my son.”

The faker of smiles.

“Legolas, don’t leave me.”

A sad, sad thing.

“Please don’t go.”

I’ll do anything.

 He focuses on small tasks, such as putting the bed sheets and his clothes in the hamper for washing later. Small tasks, he reminds himself. He looks for dirty clothes, for anything slightly bearing traces of wear. Anything. A sock. A shirt.

He breathes.

A tendril of hair falls in his eyes and he blows it away. He descends with a basket full of half clean garments. Legolas’ room. White walls, simple furnishings. He enters it in search for dirty clothes but he knows it is futile. Legolas never leaves stuff on the floor, especially dirty clothes. Thranduil sits on the bed, suddenly missing his son’s scent. He’s never been like the other children, always too mature for his age. He wonders if he did something wrong in his attempts at parenting such a wonderful child. He doesn’t know that but he’s sure of at least one thing: he is willing to do anything to make sure Legolas does not suffer like he did.

Suddenly melancholic, he leaves to put the clothes in the washing machine. They’re mostly his stuff. He sets a reminder on his phone. Is almost 9 PM and no call from Legolas. He doesn’t want to appear nosy and annoying like most parents. He wants to be the cool dad so that his son doesn’t start hiding things from him.

He can’t take it anymore. He wants to know about his day at school. If he’s eaten. If he’s okay.

He calls.

Nothing.

He calls again.

It’s fine, though, Thranduil can set to work on that draft for Erebor. He spoke briefly to Thorin Oakenshield who seemed extremely hard to please. He wants the best materials, the best of the best. He wants to recreate something that has long since been destroyed by time and neglect. His studio is suffused in starlight. He turns on the light. The wide space, peacefully waiting for him. His desk is empty of blueprints, the lamps are all in position, his drawing utensils neat in their place.

Thranduil turned on his computer, the fax machine and then opened the windows. The air was cold but tinged with the sharpness and purity of oxygen. At least Annatar fka Sauron fka be Marion didn’t reach this place although he tried. It is enough to close his eyes to picture his tormentor on that day. Tall, regal, self-assured bastard. A criminal wearing his body like a garment. Mairon Aulendil was a horror story told in a saccharine voice. Not only did he take half his land and treat it like his personal dump of toxic waste, he erected a monstrous tower from which, he presumably checked up on Thranduil with a telescope.

His studio faced the tower boldly, high ceiling and glass, transparent, for them all to see. At times Thranduil would see strange lights in the tower. For ten years, they said the place had been uninhabited except for the usual vandals and squatters. Thranduil tried not to think about it too often. There was little he could have done now to get his land back. The forest, at least on Dol Guldur’s part was dying. Trees were shaped like tortured bodies, curved and bent; the branches became knobby and ridden with disease. Crooked trees, dancing trees, cursed trees.  The spiders were the worst, though. Ugly spindly arachnids whose poison turned out to be lethal.

Thranduil descended back to his room. He passed through his walk in closet and pulled on a decent pair of grey joggers that Legolas always remarked they made his ass look great and a red plum turtleneck that had the advantage of keeping his long neck warm when Thranduil worked to a sweat most nights with the windows wide open as if challenging Mairon Aulendil. He wore fluffy home slippers and the grungiest cardigan he owned.

“You’re a mess, Thranduil.”

In the kitchen, he poured water into the tea maker. He extracted the tea from its glass container and measured a full spoon before he dropped it into the infuser. He waited, watching as the water started getting tinted like amber, cuts of lemon grass and the flower petals danced awkwardly. Mallow blue, safflower yellow, pale liquorice.

The sugar cane was next and he fractured it into pieces and settled it into his favourite bottle. Next, he transferred the contents of the pitcher. Simple, mechanical movements.

He opened the fridge and stared distantly at the neatly arranged glass boxes. Quinoa with salad and grated butternut squash. It tasted bland as usual and he forced it down by sheer willpower. His tea always tasted good, so he needed to wash the aftertaste of his three spoon's meal away.

Legolas loved his melanges. His favourite was rose and raspberry tea, a blend that was extraordinarily well flavoured, taking into account that the ingredients came from their garden. He wondered what his son was doing but relented from calling him again.

The drafting table awaited him, lonely and neglected from his last project. He looked for his metric ruler, for his blueprint paper, his pens and pencils, his favourite felt pens, his many compasses, t-squares and protractors. He selects a contemporary classical vinyl and lets it play at medium volume.

He swiped through his tablet looking at his notes during the meeting with the board. There is a sketch he did of Thorin Oakenshield, all puffed out in his blue suit. He could never understand the beard and the wild hair but apparently, it was something that most dwarves prefered as adornment and testament of their masculinity. To Thranduil, it just brought up a lumbersexual dirty feel which both aroused and repelled him.

He looks at his doodles and cannot suppress a snigger. He suddenly feels guilty for shutting the man down for almost two hours. It was easy to hide earphones with his rich long hair. Sometimes Legolas’ taste in music made him realise how much of a prankster his son could be. The selection was pleasantly bouncy to make up for a tedious display of alpha males trying to prove their point. He could endure Lady Gaga. Apparently, it went very well with the way Oakenshield’s lips moved under that thick moustache. Valar! Thranduil drew him as a walrus holding a hammer. Most of the time he focused on not smirking or downright laughing at the preposterous lyrics.  He frequently coughed in order to mask his amusement, his eyes watering with suppressed laughter.

This wasn’t the selection he asked Legolas to make him. Apparently, his son got tired of searching for peaceful meditative piano music. Kili, Thorin’s minion or rather... his personal slave, kept asking him if he wanted more water or tea. It even a cough drop. Thranduil brushed him off, unable to completely read the man’s lips. Fortunately, Kili was one of the beardless dwarves, young and clean, unlike Oakenshield. He ended up texting Tauriel to bring rice milk and some strong tea. She arrived in a hurry, all flushed and cranky. In a matter of seconds, Kili dropped the lackey persona and attached himself to her. To Thranduil’s utter surprise, she didn’t seem to mind.

It miffed him a little.

If they shaved properly and abandoned the obnoxious three pieces suits, Thranduil could even consider dating one. If only they weren’t all shorter than him. Even Thorin, as strong and masculine as he appeared, was a palm below his height. Besides, his jokes were unpalatable and his character boorish and lacking any diplomacy. He probably was hung like a horse and ate meat for breakfast lunch and dinner, seven days a week. And of course he smoked like a chimney. Fat, heavy cigars. Right in the board room. And drank stinky bitter ale. However... he was hung like a horse.

It both frightened and excited him.

He thought of Legolas.

And the entertaining music mix he made for him. “You say these meetings are so tedious that you want to grind your teeth? Ada, I made something just for you.”

Kili "what’s his name" along with his blond sexy twin were out of the question.

Thorin Oakenshield wouldn’t happen. Not in a million years, not if he were the last man in Middle Earth.

He got home early that day. He made Tauriel drive him in her sedan just to spite her and thwart the pretty boy’s plans of seducing her and dragging her to his mining town and make her pop out three kids in one shot.

It won’t happen. Not on his watch.

“I’ve done you a favour. It’s your problem if you fail to see it.”

And then he masturbated furiously, just to get the need out of his system.

He wasn’t proud of it. He sketched, completely immersed in his art, forgetting all about the metric ruler. Just plain drafts in charcoal, smudges and splatters of tea from his chipped porcelain mug.

A drop of blood trickling down his lips. He made a mental note to thrash it in the morning. The outlines of the building could match Thorin’s ego. Big and unyielding. For a second he was afraid Thorin would like it. Of course, he would.

The phone vibrated in his pocket waking him from his musings. He sucked impatiently on his lower lip, now swollen with blood. He wiped the droplet on the paper and it created an unsettling effect. He stared at his creation for a while, then his phone vibrated again with a reminder.

It was a text from Legolas. _“I love you, ada.”_

 _“I love you too, Leafling. Sleep well.”_ He replied.

The nights were getting colder. Thranduil started pacing the room just to get to feel his legs again. Several steps towards his window and the pins and needles in his muscles dissipated.

 

He looked down at the forest before him. There was a blinking light from the tower. Down in the dark, he thought he saw something, more like an animal crawling in the dead leaves.

He shivered and pulled the cardigan closer about his body. It was a huge, formless thing born out of the darkness and it seemed to suck off all the surrounding light.

 

He could have given in if he wanted. He could have done it years ago. He placed the empty mug precariously on the sill and shut the window. The mug fell and shattered.

He turned his back completely, unwilling to watch what awaited under those trees.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eccedentesiast- noun- a person who fakes smiles.  
> -  
> Okay, Thank you for your reads and support. As I have mentioned before, we have a long way to go because you all know where this is going (or at least you might suspect)... It's going to be a barduil, folks. My first barduil... We have to celebrate when I finally get down to write that chapter :O  
> Love you all!  
> Remember... blurry, windy, rainy!

**Author's Note:**

> So... my Thranduil is struggling with depression, yet he hides it so well from everyone.  
> Stay tuned!  
> Thank you for reading! Comments are appreciated!


End file.
